Forever and Always
by PrettyGirlWonder
Summary: Dean and Cas are in a car accident. Idea came from the Parachute song.


Lights.

It was all he remembered.

The passing lights on the highway, as they sped past cities and towns; the lights flickering in Cas' eyes as he spoke of heaven and hell, angels and demons. There were days when Dean found it difficult to separate his life from a Grimm Brothers' story. But when Cas spoke, his eyes full of fire and truth, Dean found beauty in the world around him, despite the ugliness he dealt with daily.

He remembered lightening.

The rain had come so suddenly. "Mom used to say rainstorms like these were the tears of angels," Dean had commented to Cas, knowing the former angel's response would make him laugh.

"Rain is purely scientific, Dean. Angels have no need for tears."

Dean smirked. "Yeah. I know, Cas."

He remembered headlights. His own, working hard to shine the way through the downpour. And he remembered the other car's headlights. He remembered not seeing them and then suddenly they were too bright, too close. He pulled the Impala away from the impending crash, but not fast enough. The car collided against the passenger door, sending the antique car spinning hard into the concrete divider.

And then he remembered darkness. He could recall, somewhere in the depths of unconsciousness, reaching for Cas and not finding him. He remembered feeling relieved that Sam had not been in the car and then panic. Painful, gut-wrenching panic because, no, Sam had not been in the passenger seat. _Cas_ had been, and the thought of Cas, _his_ Cas, hurt and broken or worse—

"Dean! Dean, wake up!"

Sam's voice jolted him awake and his eyes were suddenly filled with more lights. The fluorescent lighting of the hospital jarred Dean's senses and he shut his eyes again, blocking out the sound of his brother and the shuffling of feet outside the door and the steady beeping of the heart monitor machine.

His eyes snapped open again.

"Dean?"

He sat up fast, too fast. His head spun painfully and he felt Sam's hands on his chest, pushing him back down.

"Easy tiger. You have a head wound. You're not going anywhere."

"Cas," Dean rasped.

"I haven't found him yet, Dean. I'm looking but Cas isn't exactly registered under any databanks. No ID, no social. He's a non-entity. I can't even ask the nurses for him by name. I'll find him."

Dean's head was spinning again. His body ached, but it wasn't his injuries that caused him pain. He could feel morphine coursing through his veins, dulling whatever physical pain he might have been feeling. No, this pain was deeper. Cas was lost somewhere in the hospital, alone and unknown and it was Dean's job to keep him safe and he couldn't. He bit his lip as the waves of aching uselessness washed over him and tears stung his eyes, behind closed eyelids.

"Sam, find him," he whispered. "Please."

The morphine was pulling him under now, stultifying his ability to speak, to reason. He let sleep take him, thinking that perhaps when he woke, Castiel would be with him.

Dean dreamt of falling stars with wings and Castiel's face. It had been months since the host of heaven had fallen, and Cas had returned to him, broken, wingless and altogether human. At first, Dean had seen the agony in Cas' crystalline blue eyes, even when he insisted he was fine. The loss of his angelic abilities, the pain Dean knew he felt for his brothers and sisters, all fallen too, reflected clearly in the way Cas carried himself those first few weeks. He had reluctantly forgone Jimmy's trench coat for flannel and jeans but he still walked as if he carried the weight of wings on his shoulders. Dean and Sam had taken turns training Cas to hunt, but Dean had seen the way Cas held the knives and guns they handed him, as if their bulk and shape were unwelcome in his hands. When Dean had mentioned this, Cas had fixed him with his concentrated blue gaze and explained, "My hands were once my most powerful weapon, Dean. They were all I needed." Dean understood. He understood feeling helpless, no matter how well armed he was. He understood that being a soldier was about more than an arsenal. It was about having something worth fighting for.

Time passed, however, and Cas began to embrace his newfound humanity. He found things he loved about being human, like cooking and movie theaters and the smell and taste of popcorn. Cas liked eating, almost as much as Dean and on days when Sam immersed himself in reading or research, Dean would take Cas to his favorite burger joints or pie stops and revel in the pleasure that would illuminate Cas' face when he'd take his first bite of something new.

He taught (or tried to teach) Cas to drive. Cas had often talked of flying after the fall. The freedom and peace it brought him and how, as an angel, it was one of the few things that truly brought him joy. Dean had understood this as well. He remembered his first driving lesson in the Impala, his father half hiding his face, half laughing as Dean gripped the steering wheel tight and tried to remember which gear the car needed to be in to stop. It was one of the best memories of John Dean possessed. He remembered the day John had handed him the keys and said, "She's yours now. Treat her well and she'll never let you down." It had been one of the best days of his life.

Cas did not take to driving, partially because he seemed terrified of the car itself and partly because, as he said, "For all its space, this car is infinitely more constricting than wings and open air." But Dean had enjoyed watching him try and it had been a bright afternoon spent wincing as Cas jolted the car down an empty highway, that had made Dean realize that he'd fallen in love with Cas.

It had been a long time coming, the realization that Cas was more than his angel, his friend, his brother. Dean wanted the same things for Cas that he wanted for Sam—safety, happiness, and love. But with Cas, Dean wanted to be the sole provider of these things. He didn't just love Cas, he loved little things that amounted to everything Cas was. The way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he didn't understand sarcasm. Dean loved Cas' eyes and his pale, full mouth. He loved the way Cas looked in Dean's clothing, the way his jeans hugged his hips. Dean thought it was possible he had always felt this way but had never gotten around to saying it or admitting it to himself. Even with everything Dean had seen and done, all of the moments he'd come close to dying and even when he'd died and come back, the veil of society hung low over his actions. His father had been a man's man and Dean had emulated his father in every respect. He associated masculinity with strength and fearlessness and of course, heterosexuality and the idea of being in love with an angel, a male angel, was not conducive to the image Dean wished to portray to the world.

But in that moment, as he watched Cas' pale face, paler than usual as he brought the car to an uneasy stop in the middle of the road, Dean realized he was wasting time with technicalities. Sure, his father had slept around and fathered children out of wedlock. But before that, before the women and the hunting and the booze and the general disintegration of faith that John Winchester had become, he had been a loving, faithful husband. He had loved someone, fully, deeply and though it had not always been perfect, it had been real.

Once Dean had realized his feelings, it became impossible for him to hide them. He wasn't sure how Cas felt or if he'd even considered being with anyone, now that he was human. Of the many things they talked about, sex hadn't come up as often as Dean would've expected. He'd had the perfunctory, safe sex talk with Castiel, shortly after the fall, but since then they'd left the topic alone and Cas had never demonstrated any interest in pursuing anything with anyone. He still watched porn regularly, but he didn't seem to watch it for any functional purpose and mostly seemed interested in the underdeveloped plotlines.

Dean decided the best way to tell Cas was to just tell him. Even with all his new humanity, Cas was unfamiliar to the subtleties of human relationships and rather than risk a misunderstanding, Dean decided honesty would get him a lot farther.

Dean took them to a small diner in Beebe, Arkansas, where they were investigating a cluster of ghouls who were killing off professors at the local college and impersonating them to lure students to their deaths. Sam had gone to do the preliminary interviews alone, as Dean had explained, as cryptically as he could, that he needed time alone with Cas.

As they sat waiting for their food in the almost empty diner, Dean cleared his throat and prepared to give the well-rehearsed speech he'd written on blank motel stationary and then memorized.

Cas beat him to the punch line.

"Dean, I believe I have romantic feelings for you."

Dean choked on his own unformed words, and stared at Cas blankly.

"Wha-?"

Cas spoke again, slightly louder, apparently mistaking Dean's surprise for deafness.

"I believe I have fallen for you, if you'll excuse the phrase."

Dean tried to quiet his mind long enough to speak.

"You…?"

"I love you, Dean."

And all Dean could do was nod and stutter, "Me too," before Cas was leaning over the ketchup and mustard and kissing him, mouth warm and soft and curved perfectly to Dean's lips.

Dean woke to cold hands fumbling with his IV and a resounding headache. Sam was gone and Cas was nowhere to be found. Dean sat himself up and refused to lay back down even at the insistence of the nurse. Dean needed to find Cas now. He waited for the nurse to leave and swung his legs off the bed. Nothing seemed broken or sprained. He pulled his IV out of his arm, wincing in pain. He pushed himself onto his feet and despite the ache in his shoulder and the spinning in his head, he managed to hobble out of his room.

He slid around a corner as he watched the nurses scurry into his room, alerted by the loud beeping of the monitors that their patient had escaped. Dean moved as quickly as he could away from the room, trying to walk as normally as he could manage, considering the soreness in his muscles and the ache of his bones.

He passed room after room, searching for Cas, ignoring rooms filled with families, imagining Cas lying alone and in pain somewhere close.

He snuck into the Intensive Care Unit, hoping against hope he would not find him there. Dean hated hospitals and he'd been in enough ICU's to desperately want to avoid taking the long way around. He walked up to the desk. The nurse looked up at him from behind her computer, taking in his bandaged head and hospital clothes. She narrowed her eyes.

"Can I help you?"

Dean swallowed hard, trying to instill some of the charm in his voice he had once been so skilled at using. "I'm looking for someone. Not sure if he's on this floor. He would've been brought in alone and he was in a wreck."

The nurse tilted her head slightly, examining Dean carefully. It reminded Dean of Cas, the way his head would dip gently to one side when he was confused. The yearning to see Cas again intensified.

"Are you a patient here?" the nurse asked.

Dean thought about lying. After years of fake IDs and made up names, Dean could con his way past anyone. But here, at this moment, he just wanted to see Cas as soon as possible. Lies would take more time.

"Yes," Dean said finally, letting the air out of his lungs slowly, shoulders slumping. "I was in a car accident with my—my—Cas," he said lamely, not knowing a word that could accurately describe his relationship with Castiel to anyone. "I don't know where he is and he's alone and I need to see him."

His voice cracked at the end and he was unable to stem the flow of tears that streamed from his eyes. Before the nurse could speak however, Dean heard Sam's voice behind him.

"Dean? Dean, I found him. Cas, I found Cas," Sam said, hurrying to Dean's side and throwing an arm around his shoulders to steer him away from the help desk. Sam's voice did not sound relieved with the news he had just relayed. Dean looked up at his brother's face, trying to find some shred of comfort in the information that Cas was no longer lost, but Sam looked haggard and tired and something else, something Dean could not quite put his finger on.

"Take me," Dean murmured weakly. "Take me to him."

Sam led him down the hall, keeping his arm locked around Dean's shoulder. They reached a room near the end of the hall that was disturbingly quiet, the fluorescent lighting turned down to dim nothingness. Dean staggered away from Sam, pushing himself into the room.

_No_.

It was Cas, but it barely looked like him. His black hair was matted with dried blood and there were long gashes in his cheek and neck that had been cleaned but not yet covered. His IV monitor was beeping slowly, too slowly and Dean finally could put a name to the emotion he'd seen on Sam's face earlier: dread.

Dean limped to the side of the bed and sunk into the empty chair beside Cas' head. He pulled the former angel's lifeless hand into his own and held it to his lips, kissing it softly, willing Cas to wake up, to open his bright blue eyes and fix him with the devastating gaze that made Dean feel whole and utterly transparent at the same time. Nothing happened. Dean could feel the grief welling up inside his chest, threatening to overcome him. In thirty years, Dean had experienced loss perhaps more than most people ever would. He had mourned his mother, his father, his brother and countless friends, not to mention hundreds of nameless, faceless people he had failed to save.

But this was different. This was Cas. More than family or friend, Castiel was a piece of his soul, confined in the body of an angel. _His_ angel. Cas had come to him in hell and pulled him from the fire, given him back his life and his hope and taught him to love without the burden of guilt. Over and over, Cas had sacrificed himself for Dean, only to be restored to him by God or destiny or whatever faceless entity controlled the universe. And now Cas lay dying in a hospital bed in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere and Dean could do nothing to save him. Angry tears spilled over Dean's cheeks and he spoke to Cas, to heaven, to God—to anyone who would listen.

"You can't do this to me. You can't do this. I need you, Cas. That hasn't changed. I can't do this without you. You come back to me, you son-of-a-bitch. _Please_. After everything we've done, everything we've lost, you can't leave me here. You always answer when I call, Cas, remember? Well, I'm calling you now. So get your no-longer-feathery ass back here, Castiel," Dean's voice broke, and quiet sobs racked his chest before he could continue. "You can't die here, Cas. Not like this. We had plans. I was gonna take you to the Grand Canyon. We talked about getting a place, somewhere with snow in the winter, remember? So you could make snow angels? You promised it always be the two of us. And I promised-," but Dean could not continue. He had promised to always keep him safe and he had failed. How could he hold Cas to his promise if he couldn't keep his?

He dropped Cas hand' as the doctor walked in the room.

"Oh," the man said quietly, stopping at the sight of Dean slumped over in the seat beside Cas' bed. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize—," he started, but didn't seem to have anything to finish his statement with.

Sam spoke when it became apparent that Dean could not. "We're friends of his. My brother was with him in the car."

The doctor nodded. "I am truly sorry," he said softly, his eyes still on Dean. "We've done all we can for now. He suffered several blows to his skull. I'm afraid the injuries were more than severe. He's been comatose for several hours. He's stable at the moment, but his condition is critical."

Dean felt as if he'd been stabbed in his lungs. He couldn't breathe and he closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain, erase the words from his mind. _Stable but critical_. Dean grimaced inwardly. His beautiful, bright, strange, perfect angel, laying almost lifeless before him and he was helpless to fix it.

Dean was sure he was breaking from the inside. Hell was preferable to this. Hell was nothing compared to this agony. He'd spend eternity with a thousand Alastairs to make Castiel open his eyes again. His mind whirred. He considered the possibility of a deal. He'd gladly give his soul for Cas' life. After all, what good was his soul without Cas?

Sam was suddenly at his shoulder.

"I know what you're thinking," he whispered, low enough that the doctor could not hear. "And I won't let you. Cas would never forgive you and you know it."

Anger coursed through Dean's veins. He knew no such thing. He would never know how Cas felt about anything ever again if he didn't try to help him now. He looked up at Sam, ready to argue, but before he could muster the words, Cas stirred.

Castiel could see heaven_. _

Humans are told that near death a bright light will guide them home. The _axis mundi _was one of his Father's most ingenious ideas, but Castiel knew that for him it would not pan out the same way. Once a soul has been to heaven, a path is no longer necessary. And Castiel was no ordinary soul. Even a fallen angel had certain privileges upon reentering heaven and as the circumstances of Cas' falling were not solely of his own doing, there would be no punishment waiting for him.

And Castiel was eager to be going home. He knew the moment the car hit them that he would be returning. He was ready. Many humans fear death, fear the unknown. But Castiel knew what waited for him beyond the veil of life and he was prepared.

Except for the matter of Dean.

Castiel had loved Dean from the moment he had pulled his tired soul from the depths of hell. He had loved him as he'd sewn his body back together, loved him even when Dean had shown him nothing but unadulterated disdain. He had given himself over to the idea of belonging to Dean, even before he'd known what that actually meant. They shared a profound bond (at least that was how Cas had explained it to Sam, in the simplest terms, for fear of frightening Dean away) and after Castiel's fall from grace, it had become easier to go about showing Dean exactly how profound it was.

If anything good had come from falling, it was how quickly Dean caught on. Castiel could sense that it was easier for Dean to accept the idea of Cas as a life partner once he felt that he could actually share a life with Cas. Perhaps the concept of being in love with an angel was too much for Dean or perhaps Dean felt he was undeserving of the love of someone he perceived as pure and unblemished. Whatever the reason, the months following Castiel's fall had been like someone else's dream. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do but spend his time as close to Dean as possible, soaking in the perfection of his face and the beauty of his soul. It was heaven—and Castiel would know.

As Castiel lay in the hospital, only subconsciously aware of where he was and how he got there, floating in dreams of Dean's face and summers spent driving in the Impala aimlessly, he realized he needed to say goodbye. He had died before, as an angel, and it had always been in the name of some great cause or as a sacrifice to aid the Winchesters. He'd never been given a chance to say goodbye. He believed this was because his Father had greater plans for him at the time, plans to restore him. But this death was different. He was human now and for the most part, human deaths were unremarkable and mundane. There would be no great sacrifice and he doubted his Father would concern himself this time. The only mark Castiel's death would have this time would be on Dean.

"Cas? C'mon Cas, wake up. Please wake up."

Dean's voice increased in pitch as Cas' eyes flickered open slowly. Cas groaned low in his throat and Dean lurched forward, grabbing Cas' hand and gently pushing his matted hair from his forehead.

"Cas? Can you hear me, buddy?"

Cas turned his head ever so slightly, and despite his current condition, still managed to pierce Dean with one of his signature blue stares.

"Hello, Dean," he murmured.

Dean let out an anguished moan and gathered Cas' upper torso in his arms. He knew it was probably more than Cas could handle at the moment but he needed to hold him, to feel him breathing and warm in his arms. Cas' hand clung to the arm of Dean's hospital robe and Dean dipped his head down and pressed his lips to Cas' mouth. Castiel's lips were chapped and dry but he used what little energy he could muster to push them back against Dean's. Dean flicked his tongue at them, just enough to restore their usual moisture, then moved his mouth to Cas' cheeks, forehead, and back to his lips.

He could have stayed like this forever, but Sam cleared his throat and Dean surrendered his hold on Cas momentarily. He set him back against his pillows, but kept his hand clutched around Cas'.

"Hi, Cas."

"Hello, Sam," Cas said hoarsely. Dean winced. The former angel's usually deep, resonating voice was reduced to almost nothing.

The doctor stepped forward, walking to the monitors hooked up to Cas, pulling a pen from his pocket and the clipboard hanging from the edge of the bed, and scribbled something down. He turned to face Cas.

"How do you feel, Mr.—uh—?" the doctor stumbled, realizing he didn't know Castiel's name.

"Castiel," Dean said firmly. "Castiel Winchester."

Cas lightly squeezed Dean's fingers and Dean turned to see the ghost of a smile play on his lips.

"I don't feel much of anything, Doctor," Cas said weakly. "I suppose that's the morphine at work."

The doctor smiled. "Yes, I believe you were given a generous dose. We're glad to see you awake and lucid, though."

"Yes, thank you," Cas said, pulling his face into something close to a smile before wincing.

"Just rest for now. You gave your, er, friends quite a fright."

The doctor exited the room, leaving a deafening silence behind him. Sam cleared his throat again and excused himself into the hallway, mumbling something about fifteen missed calls and calling Garth to check in.

Dean looked down at Cas, who was staring pointedly away from Dean.

"Cas?"

Cas' face twitched but he still didn't turn his head. It was only then that Dean noticed the moisture on Cas' cheeks.

"Hey," he said, pulling Cas' face towards him, forcing him to look directly at Dean. "What's up?"

"Nothing."

Dean scowled. "Don't pull that crap on me, Cas. It didn't work when you were an angel and you were better at hiding it then. It doesn't work now. Tell me what's wrong."

Cas sighed and Dean could see how much pain it caused him to breathe. He wondered why Cas hadn't told the doctor he needed more painkillers.

"Dean," Cas whispered and the tears had returned now, fresh and falling fast. "Dean, I'm dying."

There was a ringing in Dean's ears, as if his brain were trying to drown out Cas' words.

"Don't," Dean began, shaking his head, still trying to block out the thought. "Don't do that, Cas. Don't start with the chick-flick—"

"Dean," Cas said, and his voice almost sounded normal again, infused with the gravity of the situation. "This isn't a chick-flick moment. This is real. And I need you to understand."

"Understand what, Cas?" Dean replied, anger rising in his tone. He didn't want to fight with Cas now. He didn't want to hear what he was trying to say, he didn't want to understand. He wanted Cas to rest and get better and he wanted things to go back to normal. "Understand that you're clocking out before the fight is over? That you're not even trying?"

Cas leaned back against his pillows, eyes shut. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse and weak again.

"There's nothing left to try, Dean. I can feel it. I may not be an angel anymore Dean, but I remember death still. And I know what's happening. I think that's why I woke up. So I could see you one last time."

Dean blinked tears he hadn't known had formed out of his eyes.

"You're saying goodbye?"

Cas nodded gently and turned his eyes on Dean again.

"I love you, Dean Winchester," he said, and there was a peace in his voice that scared Dean more than his physical condition. "I've loved you every day since I laid hands on you in Hell. You are the bravest, kindest, most pure soul I have ever been blessed to know and I wouldn't change a moment of the time we've had together. You've made me very happy."

Dean was sobbing now, unable to contain the emotions welling in his chest.

"You—you can't—can't leave—me," Dean whimpered, hating how weak and needy he sounded but not knowing how to control himself.

Cas' hand reached out to him and Dean leaned forward into the touch. "I will never truly leave you, Dean. I will always watch over you."

Dean grimaced. "I don't want you to watch over me, Cas. I want you here. You've watched over me enough. It was supposed to be my turn to watch over you."

Cas laughed, or tried to—his breathing was becoming labored and it sounded more like a whimper. Dean squeezed his hand.

"You have saved my life in every way possible, Dean. You owe me nothing."

Dean could feel Cas' slow pulse in his wrist, could see his eyes fluttering closed against the pain he was clearly struggling with. He remembered Bobby, how difficult his final moments had been and how he had fought against death to say goodbye. Dean felt his chest constrict painfully. These were Cas' final moments and he didn't want to waste them.

"I l-love you, Castiel," he whispered, moving his lips to Cas' temple. "Forever and always."

The heart monitor was beeping away the seconds and Dean held his breath.

"I love you too, Dean. Forever and always."

The flat, empty sound of Cas' final breath seemed to echo in the room. Nurses and doctors rushed into the room and Dean felt himself pulled abruptly away from Cas' bedside. He watched them flit around, checking for vital signs but Dean already knew what they announced a moment later. Cas was gone. He'd finally gone home.


End file.
